


Lady Be Bad

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humour, Irene Adler reference, Misunderstandings, Mrs. Hudson has to put up with your madness, Sexual References, Usher reference, confused scared Mycroft, relationship drama, series 4 references, virginReader!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 02:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9637334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: When you make a discovery at Mycroft's house you're forced to re-evaluate your relationship with him and take drastic action.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy this. :)
> 
> Thanks for all your support. :)

You’re immobile, staring down in horror. You’re currently in Mycroft’s house. You’d needed the toilet and he’d given you directions-you’ve been in the house before on an infrequent basis, hence the fact that the layout of it still somewhat confuses you-but you’d felt suddenly overcome by the need to explore, to try and find out more about the mysterious man you’ve been tentatively calling your boyfriend in your head for about two months now, even though in reality you’re not quite sure what you are. Companions perhaps more than anything else, although there’s been the odd light touch from his hand to your shoulders and an experimental lingering kiss every now and again, mostly towards the end of the night when you’re either on his settee or yours. But mostly you’ve just been there to have the odd conversation with one another and de-stress over a glass of wine. In any case, whatever you truly are you now find yourself in a room, which has a projector set up and a film reel next to it. When you’d first entered you’d found yourself wondering what Mycroft would watch in such an old-fashioned way. You’d expected it to be something that you’d smile about, hoped that it might come to be something that you’d know about, which no one else would. Something you could tease him about. Something, which would become an inside joke between the pair of you like Mycroft’s empty fridge. You hadn’t expected it to leave you in a state of perpetual shock and horror like the one you’re in now as you stare down at the title of the reel- _‘Lady Be Bad.’_ Your mouth tumbles open as you finger it, extending the dust free area without trying to. You’d expected Mycroft to have needs. Everyone has needs. _But-_

 

You stumble backwards when you hear the sound of movement as if Mycroft has left the main sitting room and is now coming to find you. You get out of the room and half-run down the hallway. You make it back to the path that Mycroft had set out for you just as he comes around the corner into view. 

 

“F/N!” He looks momentarily relieved to see you, before his face turns anxious once more as he takes in your wide, panicked e/c eyes and panting mouth. 

 

“Mycroft”-you rake a hand through your h/c hair and begin to make your way back towards the sitting room-“I, um, this has been very nice, but I um”-you half-glance back at him, taking in his dark suit, white shirt and maroon tie once more-“Yes, very nice, but I'm afraid that I have to go. Yes. Right now. Immediately.” You enter the sitting room, feeling a torrent of relief that you’re nearly out of there and swipe up your handbag from the maroon armchair that it had been resting by. 

 

“Why? You've only just arrived. Has something happened?” Mycroft’s blue eyes look at you concernedly beneath his auburn hair, which as usual has not a strand out of place. 

 

You turn back to him. He’s just inside the entranceway and looking at you with some confusion on his face. “No-No everything’s fine”- you break off, inwardly cursing yourself. Everything is so not fine. Everything is different and all wrong. 

 

“In that case,” Mycroft says, “Stay. I haven’t even selected the wine yet. I was hoping that you might”-

 

“No, no,” you say persistently. He does this all the time, pretends that he’ll be the one choosing the wine only to say that he needs your assistance, which leads to an in-depth conversation and sometimes a playful argument about flavours, but you can’t do this now. You can’t just play and act so normal. Not tonight. Not after what you’ve just seen. You stride across and put a hand up, so that it will act as a barrier and prevent your body from brushing against his as you move past him. “Really, I have to go.” 

 

“But”-

 

“I'm sorry I just”- you successfully maneuver around him, but he grabs at your arm and spins you back to him. You wriggle away. 

 

“F/N please,” he says, looking hurt, “Please just tell me why the sudden need to”-

 

“I can’t”- you break off into a sob. Feeling terrified you move away from him, covering your mouth up with your hand. Oh God. You turn and hurry away. 

 

Mycroft moves after you all the while, not trying to talk or stop you, but wearing a constant expression of concern upon his face. He watches as you burst out the front door and dart off into the night. Your f/c and white floral dress serves as a beacon of light as the darkness encases you. 

 

He holds the door open and frowns after you until he can’t see you any more. Then he retreats back inside the house. He returns to the kitchen for a time, just putting away the wine glasses and thinking hard. You’d seemed fine when you’d first come with him to the house, a little tired perhaps, but then again it is a Friday and the end of the working week. He remembers that you’d made a joke when you’d first arrived and he’d smiled. He does so again now even though he can’t remember what it had been about. Probably to do with his poor excuse for a kitchen. He chuckles, you do love teasing him about that. He falls silent again. His mind goes back to what might be wrong with you. You’d gone off to the toilet still in that same happy demeanour. He wonders if you’d received a call of some kind. That seems like the most likely explanation. Something to do with a friend or family member perhaps? But he feels hurt that you hadn’t felt able to confide in him. He appreciates that not much has happened between you in the great scheme of things but he’d thought that you were both on similar wavelengths, that you wanted more and that you could most definitely reveal a range of things to him…even as he thinks all this his feet, as if they’re completely aware of something his mind is yet to contemplate, take him through the house and down the route that he’d sent you. It’s then that he remembers about the proximity of the cinema room. His brow furrows. His pace quickens. He reaches the room, sees from the shifting of dust that the reel is out of place. “Bugger,” he says, knowing that this is not a good thing and that you’re probably thinking all sorts of thinks about him right now, making judgements even though you don’t know everything, but neither is he aware of the exact reason that you’d run out on him either. 

 

*

 

You’re in a high fit of anxiety as you take the bus home to 221C. Your mind whirs, but not with anything useful and your heart jumps every time your phone goes off with a text or call. It’s always from Mycroft. 

 

**F/N? Can we talk? Please?**

 

You ignore it. 

 

 **I can explain.**

 

You don’t respond. He doesn’t need to explain. The whole event-seeing that dreadful reel and rushing out of his house into the cold, dark night has done something to you. Its slapped you wide awake. You know if anything then _you’re_ the one who needs to explain now. You’re the one who had fallen down into the trap of hoping. Of hoping that if Mycroft was willing to spend time with you and share in some brief, but sweet kisses then that would gradually lead onto more. But what had you been thinking?! He’s a man, and even more than that a man who has considerable power. He’s not going to wait around and prise you open like a delicate bee would do to a flower. Of course with the job he has he’s not going to want to do that. He probably wants hot, passionate sex. But more than that he has needs and perhaps he’d been hoping to fulfil them tonight had you stayed. “I'm such a fool,” you moan. Why hadn’t you seen this before? 

 

An old gentleman sitting on the seat opposite you next to a green bag of shopping lets out a snort and gives you a strange look. 

 

You try to shoot him a reassuring smile as if you’re not driving yourself crazy right now. Your clenched hands push against your knees. You change your mind about going back to 221C and go to where Molly Hooper lives instead. She’s been your friend for a long time and if anyone can give you good advice right now then it’s her. 

 

 _“F/N!”_ Molly looks surprised to see you as she stands there in black leggings and a warm looking stripy pink and brown top. 

 

“Can I talk to you right now?” you beg. 

 

“Of course!” She steps aside and you head through into her kitchen. You glance out of the window over the sink, taking a deep breath. You turn around. 

 

“So I was at Mycroft’s just now”-

 

“Oh my God F/N have you just-?” Her mouth seems to catch up with her brain. “But then why would you be-?”

 

“No, no.” You shake your head, feeling all the more upset. “I haven’t. But it’s kind of about that.” You explain the whole sorry situation to her, about the reel, about how you’d just had to flee the house immediately, about how Mycroft’s been texting and trying to call you ever since-you’ve switched your phone off now-but how you don’t feel like you can ever talk to him again because how can you possibly explain to him about what an idiot you’ve been? An idiot to think that he might want to take things slow too and that he might wait for you until you’re ready. 

 

“Right, let’s just think about this for a moment,” Molly says, trying to stay calm about it all. 

 

“Molly, there’s nothing to think about. He clearly wants more than what I can give him, or more in that sense and less in another.” You panic. 

 

Molly sits you down and makes some tea, whilst you constantly shift and your hands fidget together. “Right,” she says, thrusting your cup in front of you, before she sits down with her own, “Just think about what you’ve said for a moment. Yes, it looks like Mycroft might want to take things in that direction, but even if he does then what makes you think that you’ll be incapable of giving him what he wants and that he won’t want a long-term relationship with you?” You stare at her. “F/N, everyone was surprised when the two of you started to grow closer, but its been going well so far hasn’t it?”

 

“I think so.” You shrug hopelessly. “I mean, I’ve told you that I don’t know what we are”-

 

“And I’ve said that you should just ask him about that.” 

 

You shrug again. You hadn’t wanted to ask just in case it would lead onto further embarrassment if he’d thought that you were still just friends. “But”- you break off and struggle for a moment, before you go on, “How am I supposed to-? I mean if that’s the sort of thing that he goes for then just how exactly am I supposed to give him that when I haven’t even-? When I don’t know what it’s like to have sex once, let alone be confident with it?” You feel distraught and upset with yourself. You’re so unprepared for this it’s unbelievable. 

 

Molly looks slightly amused now. “I don’t know,” she says coyly around her cup of tea, “But if it’s a bad girl that Mycroft wants then maybe you should just try that angle for a change?” You swallow. You can’t imagine yourself as a bad girl, or _any_ sort of girl in a sexual sense. You’re just you. 

 

*

 

“So now because of that and what Molly said I'm thinking that if I want to stay with Mycroft, which I do”-here Mrs. Hudson who you’re saying all this diatribe to gives you a, ‘I really don’t know what you see in him’ look-“I know you’ve never really got on with him Mrs. H, but honestly when you get to know him a little he’s”-at that you break off. It’s hard for you to express just what exactly Mycroft is. So much of him is perfection. You shake yourself out of it. “Anyway, so I'm thinking that I probably need to be sexier. Y’know _‘a lady in the street and a freak in the bed?’”_ You take a bit of a deep breath. “When it comes down to it I think that’s what Mycroft wants.” In your head your mind screams, _‘Oh God, oh God,’_ because how on earth are you supposed to give him that? 

 

“Usher,” Mrs. Hudson nods her head wisely as she sits by her kitchen table and you stand before her. Mrs. Hudson and you know all about Usher from when you’d had his CD on full blast as she’d taken you around London in her Aston Martin before. She pulls her purple cardigan slightly tighter around her, so it covers up her floral lilac and white top. She’s also wearing a black skirt. You let out a bit of a breath and nod as if you’re going into battle. “Well, I'm not going to stop you dear, not if you’re decided, but I can’t see how he can really be such a good catch if you feel that you have to change yourself for him.” 

 

You frown at that. “It’s not about changing myself,” you say. 

 

 _“Oh?”_ Mrs. Hudson raises an eyebrow. 

 

“No.” You swallow and wave your hands. “It’s just about adapting a little, so that I can make things work. That’s what relationships are about aren't they? Give and take?” You feel hopeful. Surely you’re on the right track now? 

 

Mrs. Hudson looks at you patiently. “What exactly is he giving you dear? Beyond the obvious I mean?”

 

You blush at that. “Well, he’s…” you trail off and think about that a little. “He’s…someone to talk to.”

 

“You already have someone to talk to in your friends,” Mrs. Hudson says, looking at you severely for a moment, before she concedes, “Though I do understand that, that’s an important part of any relationship. Is he really being the man you want him to be romantically though F/N?”

 

You open your mouth, on the verge of defending Mycroft, before you shut it and frown again because the truth is: “No.” You shift your position. “I guess he’s not. I mean, I’d rather I knew for definite what we are.” You huff out a breath and run a hand through your hair. This is all so difficult. You half-glance at Mrs. Hudson, before you decide to talk to her wall instead when you add, “We don’t really kiss or touch much either. Only when we’re tired. But I don’t really know what I'm doing”-Mrs. Hudson smiles at you indulgently at that. You make it sound like there’ll be a handbook to refer to once you reach a certain stage-“So I don’t know whether that’s really something to be worried about or not. But if it is, like I'm assuming that it is, then that’s why”-you ground yourself-“Why I have to do this. Otherwise I might lose him. In fact I probably will.”

 

Mrs. Hudson gives you an uncertain look now and you can tell that she thinks that if Mycroft could really let you go just because he can’t wait then that’s even more of a reason for why you shouldn't be with him. Before you can reply however a baritone voice asks, “Lose who?” You look to where Sherlock has just entered. Wearing a dark suit with a white shirt he heads straight for the fridge where he retrieves a pork pie. He bites into it hungrily as his glittering blue eyes fix on you. You swallow a little nervously. “Oh God, not my brother?” he says around his mouthful. 

 

Your hands fidget anxiously. They go and straighten your ponytail. 

 

Mrs. Hudson however has no qualms in saying, “F/N feels like she has to, dress down so to speak for your brother to stay with her.” Her lips curve downward disapprovingly. 

 

Sherlock nearly chokes at that. “No, no, no,” he says, waving a hand, his eyes stinging. He looks from Mrs. Hudson to you. “Have you not seen my brother? Do you not know him?” He finishes off his pork pie. 

 

“That’s all very well for you to say Sherlock, but”- ‘you haven’t seen that reel,’ is how the sentence ends in your head. Your mind once more feels in a panic about it all. 

 

“He likes you just the way you are. Why do you think he’d talk to you otherwise? Why do you think he invites you over to his house? If he didn't like you or wanted you to change then you’d know about it by now. Trust me.” He looks a little bitter. “He used to waste no time in telling me how I was the stupid one and he was the smart one.” Sherlock tilts his head and thinks about that. “In fact he still doesn’t.”

 

You don’t feel sure of Sherlock’s words. Mycroft’s a gentleman after all and this is different, not a brotherly squabble. But before you can say anything the doorbell goes. 

 

“Oh God,” you jump. Sherlock looks at you in concern. Mrs. Hudson does so anxiously. “That’s probably Mycroft,” you say as the doorbell gets pressed again, “Coming around to check why I haven’t been answering his calls and texts. Tell him that I'm unavailable if it is him won’t you? That I'm ill, or better still that I'm out”-

 

“He’ll know that you’re here,” Sherlock says wisely. “CCTV. He wouldn't have bothered to even come otherwise.” 

 

“Well I'm ill then,” you round on him, before you explain further, “I just can’t see him like this, not before I’ve figured everything out properly, not when I look so, _me.”_ You pluck at your stripy black and white cardigan hopelessly. Going by your clothing you definitely look more like a woman who’s nearing retirement age, not one who’s hoping to be sexually alluring for her boyfriend soon. 

 

Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock once more look doubtful at your words, but as another impatient ringing of the doorbell comes they both head for the door. 

 

“Ah, I suppose the wait was worth it if I get two people answering the door to me,” Mycroft says, twirling his usual umbrella. “Unfortunately neither of you are who I desire to see. Where’s F/N?” He pushes his way inside without being invited and begins to make for the door of 221C. 

 

Your heart racing and not wanting him to see the shadow of you by the door of Mrs. Hudson’s flat you dive beneath the table, banging your leg against a chair as you do so. It emits a loud squeak. You let out a curse under your breath. 

 

Mycroft hears the noise and pauses from where his hand had been reaching to knock upon the door of 221C. He looks towards Mrs. Hudson’s flat. 

 

Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock exchange an anxious look. “She’s ill,” Mrs. Hudson says. Mycroft looks back at her. “F/N,” Mrs. Hudson clarifies. “She’s in, but she’s ill. Isn't that right Sherlock?”

 

“Yes,” Sherlock says without any more prompting. “Must be the flu. She looked terrible this morning. Unless you want to be off work for a month then there’s no point in going in there brother dear.”

 

Mycroft looks between them both suspiciously for a moment, before he lowers his hand. If he’d known that they’d been saying the truth then he would have wanted to go in and see you no matter what the case, make his own assessment of how ill you are. But he senses that honesty is not something that he’s currently being given, so he turns, his attention going properly to Mrs. Hudson’s flat now. 

 

“There’s no point going in there,” Mrs. Hudson tells him quickly. 

 

“What was the sound in there just now then? Don’t tell me that a woman as house proud as yourself has a rodent infestation?” Mycroft looks over his shoulder at her. 

 

“As house proud as I am Mycroft Holmes,” Mrs. Hudson says, taking offence, “There’s only so much you can do living in central London.” 

 

“That’s right. There’s rats everywhere,” Sherlock backs her up, before he stands more confidently as he adds, “You’d know such a thing if you broke your routine and took the time to take London in more.”

 

“Is that so?” Mycroft looks at them both in some amusement, before he faces the door once more. His expression becomes serious and his fingers go to the door, before they pause and then help to push it ajar ever more slightly. At first his eyes don’t see anything out of the ordinary, but then, as he steps forwards and peers in some more, his eyes spin down and meet with your frightened e/c ones. You both let out a jerk of breath. You hold each other’s gazes for the longest of moments. Long enough for Mycroft to see that you’re not going to talk to him in your current state. “I didn't realize that I was dating a child,” he announces coolly, “More than that a child who doesn’t even seem capable of speech.” The words come out of his lips automatically, before he turns and sweeps out again, leaving Baker Street far behind.

 

Your heart leaps in excitement at Mycroft’s use of the word ‘dating,’ before it sinks once more when you’ve taken in the complete context of his sentences. You clamber out awkwardly from beneath the table and straighten up again to see that both Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock are frowning at you. Feeling irritated with them you say, “See! That’s why I have to do this. Mycroft doesn’t want a child, he wants a woman.”

 

“No,” Sherlock says in frustration, “He just doesn’t want an idiot who thinks that she has to change herself and hide underneath tables.”

 

You let out a little ‘humph’ of indignation at that and stride in between them both, knocking into Sherlock’s shoulder hard. 

 

Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock turn around to watch you. It looks like you’re going to have to find out for yourself what Mycroft truly wants. 

 

*

 

You spend the rest of the day, and a large part of the weekend in fact, stuck in 221C, plotting ways in which you can make yourself appear sexier and more adult. As you’re brainstorming you remember about the rude text alert noise that goes off on Sherlock’s phone whenever Irene Adler should get in touch with him and think that perhaps you can do something similar to help your own situation. 

 

That Sunday night, having steeled yourself up, you ring Mycroft, as you lie fully clothed on your bed. 

 

“Hello?” comes Mycroft’s eager voice and you get the sense that in spite of his dismissive words when he’d last seen you he’s been missing you and wanted to immediately answer his phone when he’d seen that it was you who was calling. 

 

The fact that normal you has somehow managed to have an effect on him kind of turns you on, and, just as you’d planned, hoping that sexual you might have even more of an impact, you let out a bit of a moan. 

 

“F/N? Is that you? Are you hurt?” comes Mycroft’s urgent voice.

 

You feel like swearing. Typical that you should sound like you’re being tortured when you’re trying to sound sexy. You do a softer and deeper moan this time, hoping that he might think that you’re touching yourself as you think of him even though the dirtiest you’ve gotten is having your hair mused. 

 

You hear a couple of sharp breaths coming from the other end, before Mycroft gets himself together enough to say, _“F/N?”_ his voice a little high-pitched. 

 

You don’t feel like you can do anything more, so you disconnect the call. You just lie there staring at the ceiling for a moment, letting out a few breaths. Mycroft tries to ring you back, but you don’t answer. You hope that he’s picturing you getting off to his voice right now and hope that he’s similarly aroused himself. 

 

You can’t know that he’s feeling utterly dumbfounded by everything. He takes a sip of his scotch and lowers it to the side table. Had what he’s deduced really just happened?

 

*

 

At work next day you head for Mycroft’s office. 

 

“I’ve got some papers to deliver,” you say with a wink to Anthea as you pass her. She raises her eyebrows at you, wondering if you’ve got something in your eye. Since you don’t know this you’re not off put however and you slip into Mycroft’s office without even knocking. 

 

“Excuse- _F/N!”_ Mycroft blurts out, his eyes widening as he looks up from his paperwork. 

 

You hope that he’s noticing the fact that you’ve got your hair in a bun today to make you look older, how you’re wearing your smartest white blouse, which has a couple of its buttons undone to show off your collarbone, along with some black trousers and a jacket and how you feel so good in them. Hope that he catches a whiff of the expensive perfume that you’d bought for yourself over the weekend and hope that he’s noticing the dark brown mid-calf boots that you’ve also acquired. You fix your eyes on him intently and begin to strut towards him. “I told Anthea that I had some paperwork to deliver.” You raise a hand now and drop the wad of blank papers that you’re carrying bit by bit until they’re all a mess on the floor. You go around his desk, putting a hand on the chair he’s sitting on. “But I really just came to see you,” you murmur, your breath hot against his ear. You pull back and retreat to the chair that’s in front of his desk. You put your foot on it to show off one of your new boots even more. You pull a pen out from where you’d placed it in between your leg and the top of your boot. “Did you like my phone call last night?” You stick the pen in between your teeth as you glance at him. You hope that he’s finding this sexy right now because you’re struggling to breathe. He looks a bit befuddled, as if someone’s hit him hard on the head and he’s still recovering. You can’t tell whether that’s a good thing or not. 

 

_“I”-_

 

“That was just a taster,” you say after you pull the pen free. You give it a little twirl between your fingers. “You see”-you push off the chair and turn, bending down to pick up one of the blank pieces of paper. You wiggle your bottom a little as you do so, hoping that you’re giving him a good show. Mycroft’s hand tightens upon his paperwork. He doesn’t know where to look. Are you coming onto him at work? He swallows. “I'm inviting myself around to yours again this Friday. Only this time will be better. Much better.” You go back to his desk and lay the paper down in front of him. Mycroft sees that you’ve scribbled: _FRIDAY_ on it in big capital letters. You push it closer to him, giving him ample view of your cleavage as you do so. “Mycroft Holmes,” you utter to his scared blue eyes and parted lips, “I am going to give you everything that you want and more.” He swallows again. You turn and are almost at the door, before you look over your shoulder and say, _“Oh.”_ You put a finger to your lips. “I’d clear those papers up if I were you.” You point to the scattered papers that are upon the floor. Mycroft’s brow furrows. “Otherwise people might get the impression that we've been doing something we shouldn't have.” You wink at him. “Something _naughty.”_ You walk out. 

 

Mycroft releases a long breath that he hadn’t even realized had been building up inside him. First that strange phone call last night and now this. He doesn’t get what’s going on with you. You’d looked nice in what you’d been wearing, yes. But it hadn’t really been you and when he thinks about it he much prefers the dress that you’d been in last Friday. You’d looked much more like the you he sees in his head in that. He frowns. He supposes that if this continues then he’ll have to have a word with you and ask what all this oddness is in aid of? 

 

But for the next few days everything is normal. He can’t know that you’re saving it all up for Friday. 

 

*

 

Friday arrives and Mycroft heads off home with the agreement that you’ll be joining him there shortly. Apparently you’ve got something that you need to do. This had rather made Mycroft feel uneasy, but he’s trying to push it down inside himself. He knows that you’ve been a bit strange lately and that you’d made reference to something happening today, but he’s trying to hope that you’ve recovered from whatever odd affliction had hit you and that you might just be able to have a nice and rather ordinary evening together. 

 

When you knock on the door though and he answers it he quickly realizes that, that’s not going to be the case. 

 

“You probably thought that I was going to dress up,” is what you say, your hair glossy and slightly curled as it falls down onto your shoulders, “But instead I dressed down.” You pull the light brown trench coat you’re wearing open and reveal the fact that all you’re wearing beneath is some very risqué black and pink lingerie. 

 

Mycroft’s mouth flutters between being open and shut for a moment, his eyes going to the inviting s/c skin of your midriff, before, not wanting anyone else to see you, he pulls you swiftly inside. He grunts as your body smacks into his. You however take that as an invitation to pounce and your mouth clumsily meets his own as you close the door behind you. Mycroft tries to withdraw, tries to push you off, but every time he does so you knock your heads back together again, your lips seeking out his as if they must never part. He finally manages to pull back enough to say, “F/N stop! What in heaven’s name has gotten into you?” Your mouth drops open and he uses the opportunity to push you further back, touching at your coat covered shoulders as he does so rather than at anything else. 

 

You steady yourself and for a moment you just look at one another. You take in the fact that he’s looking at you like he doesn’t even know you any more, his eyes wide and questioning beneath his rumpled hair. His blue tie is wonky as it sits nestled between a white shirt and grey waistcoat. Whilst his parted lips are slightly smudged with your pink lipstick. He-not letting his gaze drop any further-takes in your wild hair and the mix of utter confusion and desperation that you’ve got upon your face. 

 

“I-I thought that’s what you wanted!” Mycroft’s brow furrows. “Oh God, Sh-Sherlock was right.” You draw the coat back around yourself properly, your face flaming with embarrassment. “I-I should never have”- you duck your head and make to turn around. You’re nearly at the door again, before you hesitate and look back over your shoulder. “I’ve been acting like an idiot all week haven’t I?”

 

Mycroft’s face softens now and his shoulders slump down. “Not all week. Just part of it.” You smile at that even though your heart feels like it’s cracking. Mycroft, sensing the emotion that’s inside you, swallows. “Why don’t you come and sit down? I can make us a cup of tea to drink, whilst we talk about all this.” He comes across and touches lightly at your shoulder. 

 

You worry at your bottom lip for a moment, before you nod. He steers you through to the main sitting room and you perch nervously on the edge of the settee, whilst Mycroft goes to make some tea. 

 

When he returns momentarily he places both cups down in front of you on the coffee table, before he sits tentatively next to you. Though his knees tilt towards you there’s a respectful distance between your body and his. For a moment you both sip nervously at your tea. Then Mycroft puts his down again and says, “It was because of the reel that you saw wasn’t it? Why you’ve felt the need to do all this? It came to me just now after you said what you did about thinking it was what I wanted.” 

 

Sitting with your legs pinned together and your cup of tea wedged between your hands as you hunch forwards you nod. “I'm sorry.” You look at him quickly. “I didn't mean to snoop around your house. It sort of just happened. I wanted to get to know you more.” 

 

“Oh F/N,” he breathes sympathetically. You look at him, worried that he’s about to make you feel even worse or more inadequate. “I don’t have to like you looking around my house, but I can unfortunately understand what you’ve said just now about why you did. I'm more concerned however that you couldn't just ask me what you wanted to know in the first place.” You look chastised. “As for the reel you saw, well, it’s just”-he shrugs-“It calms me down sometimes to watch those old noir films”-

 

_“But”-_

 

“I realize the title is a little…” Mycroft trails off, looking momentarily uncertain. “And yes, there are one or two… _scenes,_ but it’s more about the elegant look of the thing, the style of it all, the charming rapport that’s between the main two characters”-he squeezes briefly at your hand and you smile-“Then because of anything else.”

 

“It still turns you on though doesn’t it? All of that?” you look at him anxiously. 

 

 _“Well”-_ he tilts his head. 

 

You blow out a breath. “I knew it, and now I’ve probably just messed things up even more by-by being so cheap!” You pluck angrily at the coat you’re wearing, before you put down your tea. You’re upset and close to tears. “What was I thinking?” 

 

“Would it help if I said that you obviously weren’t?” Mycroft says softly, shifting close to you and passing you a handkerchief. “That all you saw was the ‘bad’ in the title and not the ‘lady,’ which is something that you most definitely are and don’t even need to try and be?” 

 

You smile in a watery fashion at his attempt to cheer you up. You use the handkerchief to dab at your eyes for a moment, before you scrunch it up in your fist. You let out a couple of breaths as your face settles and becomes serious once more, before you look at him. “Be honest with me. Do you even want a relationship?” You look away again, too scared of the answer. You don’t want to fall in love with him any deeper, don’t want to fully accept the compliment that he’d given you just now if this isn't going to work. You’d rather have your heart broken now, when you’ve been such an idiot anyway, then later when things have gotten even more complicated. 

 

“Of course I do.” Mycroft nudges at you gently. “But I think if this situation’s taught us both anything then it’s how important it is to take things slowly. I don’t want you to feel like you have to be someone you’re not for me or like you have to rush into something that you’re not comfortable with. I think if anything’s going to ruin our relationship then it’s that and us putting pressure on ourselves.” You nod, still looking teary. Mycroft eyes you cautiously. “I think we should-in light of you feeling like you have to look around my house for answers-get to know each other more and see where that takes us from there. But I want to make it clear: I do want a relationship with you F/N. I am committed to this.” 

 

You nod. “In the mean time though can we watch that film?” Mycroft looks horrifically awkward at that. “I’d like to see the styling,” you smile in a way that’s somehow both mischievous and shy. “Like to get to know what turns you on…just in case I need it for future reference.” 

 

“Oh, my needs are quite ordinary really. I think you’d be surprised. But, still, perhaps we could…fit it in sometime.” Mycroft looks suddenly hot beneath the collar. 

 

 _“Now?"_ you ask, before you realize, “That is if you want to. I mean, maybe now’s not so good an idea. I should probably put on more clothes or something.” You look awkward once more. 

 

“You could always”-you look at him hopefully-“Borrow something of mine?” He might not want you to watch that film, but he finds your embarrassment about the state that you’re in too endearing to turn you away and not enable you to stay if he can. 

 

You smile, liking that idea, and it’s not long before you’re sitting beside each other on the settee again, you in a white shirt with blue stripes of Mycroft’s with the sleeves rolled back and some dark trousers that are too big for you. You have the collar of the shirt right up and take pleasure in breathing in his scent and grinning at how cheesy _‘Lady Be Bad,’_ actually is. You feel happy when you catch Mycroft mouthing the words of the male character. He smiles at you in embarrassment each time after he does so, but doesn’t seem able to stop himself from doing it again. You hope that you might be able to get to know the film so well that you’ll be able to mouth the lines of the female character back to him one day. Letting out a fond breath you tilt your head down against his shoulder. He puts an arm around you and holds you close for the rest of the film. In that moment you don’t care about how awkward things might be in the future, all you know is that _this_ is how things are meant to be right now.

**Author's Note:**

> The Usher song that Reader references is 'Yeah!'


End file.
